Diplomatic Piracy
by Twist
Summary: An exiled Vetinari has an open road ahead of him. Watch through the eyes of Vimes as pirates, politicians and hard liquors combine.
1. Default Chapter

It has happened, Commander Samuel Vimes, Duke of Ankh-Morpork thought to himself. The city is now officially chaos.  
  
It had happened so quickly, he reflected. One minute Vetinari had been Patrician and then all of a sudden he was exiled and Lord Rust was sitting in the Oblong Office with not a clue as to what was going on.  
  
Nevertheless, Vimes had kept his job through the ordeal. Rust had somehow been persuaded to allow Vimes to continue commanding the Watch - Vimes had suspected Vetinari had had a little something to say to Lord Rust before he took the final step out of the city gates.  
  
And somehow, because of all this, Sir Samuel Vimes was on his way to Lancre the week before Hogswatch on some fool diplomatic trip. Sybil had stayed home with young Sam, and Vimes had promised he'd be home by Hogswatch Eve. Knowing the way things worked out for Sir Samuel Vimes, this would probably be untrue.  
  
Vimes stared out the window of the coach and scowled. It was cold, and a light snow was falling on the ground. He watched the fallow cabbage fields roll past and thought longingly of the awful Sour Cabbage Soup that Sybil made at Hogswatch. It was terrible, but it reminded him of home and Sam and Sybil, which was better than staring at cabbage fields.  
  
A slight change in the landscape ahead caught the Commander's eye. It was a tree sales-lot, where some poor soul was standing out in the cold trying to sell off the last of the scrawniest Hogswatch trees. Whether out of pity or boredom, Vimes instructed the coach to stop.  
  
He would buy a tree and have it sent home to Sam and Sybil.  
  
The snow crunched under his boots as he exited the coach. The Hogswatch tree lot was, as far as he could see, empty. But he knew better. This close to Ankh-Morpork, there would be someone there, waiting to sucker someone for all they were worth.  
  
He walked to the back of the lot, glancing in and out of the trees. He was almost ready to admit that there wasn't anyone there. Almost.  
  
"Can I help you?" Someone drawled from amongst the trees. Vimes turned in the direction of the voice, but luckily for him a green-clad man emerged from a cluster to his left.  
  
"I want a tree," Vimes growled. The man's condescending drawl had not put him in the Commander's good graces.  
  
"Imagine that."  
  
"Listen, you little sod," Vimes growled, and strode angrily towards the other man, who was hunched inside his overcoat. "I come in here to give you business, and if you're going to be insolent . . ."  
  
The man looked up at Vimes, a small grin on his face. His face was very familiar, and he had very familiar blue eyes.  
  
"Oh," Vimes said. "Your Lordship."  
  
"Not anymore," Vetinari drawled. "I believe you wanted a tree?"  
  
"Why are you selling trees?" Vimes asked, impervious to Vetinari's hint that he was cold and probably had better things to be doing.  
  
"I'm between things," Vetinari said, waving a hand. "About the whole tree thing --"  
  
"Couldn't you write a book or something?" Vimes asked, perplexed as to why the former Patrician would be selling trees. "Must you be selling trees?"  
  
"Do you want a tree or not, Vimes?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Good." Vetinari stalked off through the mass of greenery while Vimes followed in his wake. The Commander was excessively confused, and therefore becoming angry.  
  
"You don't have to get short with me, you know."  
  
Vetinari very wisely said nothing, but merely pointed at a tree.  
  
Vimes scrutinized the evergreen. "Will the needles fall off?"  
  
"Would I sell you something that needles fell off of?"  
  
"Probably."  
  
Vetinari paused. "Well I might, yes. But no needles'll fall off at all."  
  
"None?"  
  
"No," Vetinari said solemnly. "But it might spontaneously combust."  
  
Vimes kicked the tree. Vetinari scowled. "I'll take it," the Commander said, after observing minimal needle loss.  
  
"Five dollars," Vetinari said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his overcoat.  
  
"Five dollars?" Vimes asked. "I'm not paying five dollars for that."  
  
"Why not? It's a damn fine tree."  
  
"I did not just hear you say that. And I'm not paying five dollars."  
  
"I'll throw in a watch, free of charge," Vetinari said. He opened his overcoat to reveal the mass of watches hanging from the inside.  
  
"You have sunk to new depths, Vetinari. Even Dibbler would not aspire to this."  
  
"My shamelessness no longer knows any bounds, Vimes." He quirked an eyebrow. "Are you sure you want to pass on the tree and the watch? For five dollars?"  
  
"Fine." Vimes thrust a bill at the man, who took it with a smug grin. He passed over a watch and looked at the tree.  
  
"I suppose you'll be wanting that shipped?"  
  
"Yes. To my house."  
  
"Three dollars for shipping and handling."  
  
Vimes nearly growled. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to offer me the insurance package on the damn thing?"  
  
"I could if you'd like me to," Vetinari said brightly.  
  
Vimes thrust three dollars at the grinning former Patrician with a small growl. "I assume you still know my address."  
  
"Certainly." He pocketed the money. "Have a nice day."  
  
Vimes began to stalk off. At the entrance to the lot, he turned and faced the green-clad man. "I wish you luck in all future enterprises," he said formally.  
  
"You're talking to a former politician who's selling trees and watches, Vimes," Vetinari drawled, his arms crossed.  
  
"Right, sorry." He climbed into his coach, and with one last look at the lot ordered the driver on.  
  
When Vimes arrived home on Hogswatch Eve, he would walk into the Mildly Sickening Puce Room, where his wife and son were. He would behold the stick displayed proudly in the place where the tree ought to have been. He would be bewildered as his wife began laughing hysterically and thrust a note at him. And he could only help but smile when he read the note.  
  
"You should have bought the insurance package.  
  
--H.V." 


	2. Wander This World

Commander His Grace, the Duke of Ankh-Morpork Sir Samuel Vimes, Esq. was on patrol. He rarely went out on patrol these days, what with young Sam and Sybil insisting he work longer hours and whatnot. But tonight he was patrolling. Specifically, he was patrolling the area surrounding the Hubwards Gate.  
  
Upon reaching the gate itself, he nodded at the officers on duty. Colon and Nobby nodded upon seeing their Commander. Without a word being spoken, the three men opened the human-sized door in the now-barred gate and stepped outside of the city. The Commander lit a cigar and took a deep breath, as if the air one meter outside of the city were fresher.  
  
"Nice moon tonight," Sergeant Colon said to no one in particular. The moon was half-full, and unusually bright. The beams fell across the Commander's cigar case, causing it to glint.  
  
The three men looked across the moonlit cabbage fields. A singular road stretched out before them. Eventually, the road would reach Lancre.  
  
Four months ago, in the dead of winter, the Commander had been traveling that road. On the road he had encountered the former Patrician - Havelock Vetinari - who had been exiled for Crimes Against Humanity by the current Patrician, Lord Ronald Rust.  
  
Almost immediately after Vetinari had taken that faithful step outside the Limping Gate, the city fell into chaos. But, Vimes had sensed, it was a carefully crafted chaos. It was a chaos that Rust would never understand. Yes, Ankh-Morpork was in chaos and yes, Rust was supposedly Patrician, but Vetinari was not the kind of puppeteer that would let go of all the strings at once. Vimes was almost certain he still had a hand in the running of the city.  
  
Vimes' thoughts were interrupted by Corporal Nobbs, who had pointed down the road to Lancre. "Here, what's that?" he asked. Colon and Vimes looked.  
  
Growing closer to the city of Ankh-Morpork was a dark figure. It may have been an enormous creature, or it may have been a man hunched inside an overcoat. It rattled as it walked.  
  
"Suppose we ought to ask who comes hither or something?" Colon asked. Nobby and Vimes shrugged simultaneously.  
  
"They'll get here eventually."  
  
The three watchmen passively watched the rattling figure approach. When it was about four meters away, Nobby took action. "Who're you, then?"  
  
The figure stopped. It seemed to take in the features of the three moon- bathed watchmen, and then began approaching as if nothing had happened. It reached them quickly, and then nonchalantly leaned against the gate. While the three other men looked on, the figure lazily lit a cigarette.  
  
"Who's gone there?" Vimes asked, watching the relaxed figure with mild annoyance. No one just sauntered up to his city and leaned against the gate like that.  
  
"Me." The voice was rougher, less accented with Morporkian High Life, yet it was recognizable.  
  
"Oh," Vimes said. He watched the hunched man exhale smoke from his nostrils. It rather made his silhouette look dragon-ish, Vimes thought poetically. "What brings you here?" he asked, after a time.  
  
Colon and Nobby were at this point listening very closely as to who this figure could be. They recognized the voice, but -  
  
"Business," the figure replied. "I figured with all the tourists around it would be easier to make enough to buy food." There was a pause. "I'm aspiring to a mattress."  
  
"And I'm sure that annoying the Patrician by standing right outside the city gates has nothing to do with it," Vimes observed dryly. The tip on the figure's cigarette turned red as he took a drag.  
  
"Of course not." Corporal Nobbs had been watching the figure's overcoat intently for the past few minutes. The jangling had intrigued him. "Would you like a watch, corporal?" The figure asked. Vimes could only see the amused grin because he was next to the man.  
  
"You'd make a lot more money standing in Sator Square, you know," Colon said. Nobby took a drag on his own dog end.  
  
"Only if you had competitive rates."  
  
The figure snorted and shook his head. Following the brief conversation the three watchmen and one stranger stared off across the cabbage fields.  
  
"How goes the city, Vimes?" the stranger asked finally. He shifted and jangled.  
  
"Chaotic," Vimes replied. "But it's not the sort of chaos I'd suspect." He let the sentence trail off, watching the stranger.  
  
Moonlight glinted off the stranger's grin.  
  
"I can't just let her plummet, Vimes; the disc's economy would crash." He paused. "And then who would buy watches and trees?"  
  
"Here," Nobby said softly, suddenly looking anxious. "You're not the old Patrician are you?"  
  
"I'm gone for a year and I'm already old?" Vetinari said lightly. "Good heavens."  
  
"What are you doing here?" Colon asked nervously. "If we're seen frat - fraterniting with a traitor we could be shot. And you too," he added as an afterthought.  
  
"It's fraternizing," Vetinari said, taking another drag, "and you can't be shot. It wasn't in the decree, anyway."  
  
"So what have you been doing since trees have gone out of season?" Vimes asked while Nobby and Colon wallowed in fear. Vetinari flashed a grin.  
  
"Wandering around and selling watches." He took a drag on the cigarette. "Are you sure you wouldn't like a watch? I offer competitive rates."  
  
"And insurance packages, I'm sure," Vimes said. He eyed the former Patrician, who was leaning against the gate to the city and staring across the fields.  
  
He had changed so much since he had left. He'd shaved off the official- looking beard, making him look at least five years younger. The effect, however, was countered by the grey in his close-cropped and tousled hair. And, of course, he would always have the fathomless Vetinari eyes, which told you that he knew exactly what you were thinking and mocked you because you didn't /even know where to start with him/.  
  
He'd also started smoking, Vimes noted. He wondered how long ago that had happened. Vimes looked at the other man. Vetinari had been watching him think the whole time, with a constant bemused grin on his face.  
  
"Appearances change, Vimes," he said with a shrug.  
  
"That's not what I was thinking," Vimes growled defensively. He gave the former Patrician a good long glare before turning his head and continuing to glare at the cabbage fields.  
  
"What sort of business are you here on, sir?" Nobby whispered, as if they might get caught here and at this time of night.  
  
"Watches," Vetinari said simply.  
  
And then Vimes got it. 'All those years with the man,' he thought, 'and it took me that long to pick up on it.'  
  
"You're here about Ankh-Morpork, aren't you?" Vimes asked softly, his eyes fixed on the cabbages.  
  
"Some watches are bigger than others," Vetinari replied, just as softly. He grinned suddenly. "And well /done/ Vimes. Thought you'd never get it."  
  
Vimes had questions he wanted to ask. He wanted some answers. But he couldn't do it now, not with Nobby and Colon standing in an eight-foot radius. 'But I might never get the chance to ask again,' he thought. Slowly, keeping his face carefully immobile, he turned to Nobby and Colon.  
  
"I order you to patrol Scoone Avenue," he said, mustering all of his commandeering rights. "Now."  
  
"But Detritus has Scoo -" Fred was cut off by Nobby, who had grabbed his arm.  
  
"It's an /order/, Sarge," Nobby said. He winked at Vimes and dragged to protesting sergeant away.  
  
For quite a while, the two men stared at the fields.  
  
"I didn't really think you'd left," Vimes said suddenly. "The chaos was all too carefully crafted."  
  
Vetinari nodded slowly. "I couldn't leave. Not after spending twelve years of my life in servitude to the damn city, I couldn't."  
  
"So where did you go? Where were you between the last fall and the week before Hogswatch?"  
  
"I went to Überwald. Caught up on some old acquaintances, monitored the situation here and generally enjoyed myself." He thought for a moment. "I also was piss drunk most of the time."  
  
"So you picked up some habits," Vimes said neutrally. He glanced at Vetinari's dog end. "Black Scopani, I'd assume?"  
  
"You really ought to try some one of these days." There was silence.  
  
"Why did you really come back?" Vimes asked slowly. "Yes, you wanted to tweak the city around a little bit, but really why? You have never done anything with only one reason."  
  
"I wanted to see it one last time," Vetinari said softly. Smoke curled from the end of the cigarette.  
  
Vimes bridled slightly. "You're not coming back?" he asked. Disbelief radiated from every feature on his face, he was sure, but the thought of an Ankh-Morpork without any Vetinari at all, even behind the scenes, was terrifying.  
  
"I can't," the former ruler said simply. He looked at Vimes' face. "Oh, come off it. You think I'd go into exile and never get over it and linger around the city selling watches?"  
  
"Yes, actually," Vimes said faintly.  
  
"The city will be fine," Vetinari assured him. "It ought to tick along smoothly until another somewhat-competent ruler comes along. Then they'll doubtlessly figure it all out and bring in a new system."  
  
"And what if you're wrong?" Vimes challenged. His initial disbelief had been replaced by anger. "What if things don't tick along smoothly?"  
  
"Then I'll have to walk an awful long way," Vetinari said. "I won't let it die, Vimes."  
  
For some reason, the Commander got an enormous amount of comfort out of hearing those words. He sighed. "But where will you go?"  
  
"I have no idea," Vetinari said simply. "Maybe Genua."  
  
"So while Ankh-Morpork's ticking over on some invisible governmental system, you're off wandering the world?"  
  
"Sounds like a plan to me."  
  
"I just don't know how you can be so sure," Vimes said finally. He allowed himself to slump back on the gate as well, his hands covering his eyes. The other hand held the burnt remains of his cigar.  
  
"I just am," Vetinari said definitively. "Always have been." He snubbed out the remains of his cigarette. "I'm off. Write to Margolotta if you want me to see it." He grinned at Vimes and walked began to walk off. The jangling resumed.  
  
"Wait," Vimes said suddenly. Vetinari looked back over his shoulder, eyebrow raised. "Where do you get the watches?" he asked. Vetinari may be leaving Ankh-Morpork, but Vimes was damned if he wasn't going to criticize the man for stealing watches.  
  
Vetinari shrugged. "I make them."  
  
Vimes watched in disbelief as he disappeared among the cabbage. 


	3. Diplomatic Piracy, Part One

The night crawled on. Commander Samuel Vimes was sitting in the Mildly Sickening Purple Room in his pajamas, watching it do so. He'd always enjoyed watching the night. Plus, he hadn't been able to sleep.  
  
He was thinking too much these days, he knew. But with Vetinari gone, who was left to think too much? Patrician Rust certainly didn't and none of the City Council members except perhaps Slant thought about anything but themselves. No one really thought about the city anymore. Vimes lit a cigar and began chewing on the end.  
  
Vetinari had been gone for a little over five years. The chaos of the first two years after his exile had died down and now the city was running just as smoothly as it had under Vetinari, despite Rust's best attempts. Four years ago, Vimes had been the last person in Ankh-Morpork to see Havelock Vetinari.  
  
He had written to Margolotta once at Sybil's request three years ago and she had assured him that Vetinari was alive and well. She even hinted at a career. She told him flat out that he was living somewhere contact was difficult and that contact might eventually fall out. Sybil had been worried, but Vimes and Margolotta were almost sure that the former Patrician could take care of himself.  
  
Vimes looked out the window in the direction of the harbor. That was the true gate to the world. And anywhere outside of that gate, Vetinari could be. He wondered briefly how close to that gate Vetinari still lingered. The Commander really had no idea.  
  
*  
  
The pirate's sharp eye surveyed the city of Ankh-Morpork. Behind him, the crew gaped at the lights.  
  
"And that's really all one city?" One of the crewmates asked. "How're we going to pillage and burn and rape a city that big?"  
  
"We aren't," the captain said lazily. "We have a different mission this time." He turned to face his crew. The gentle breeze off the sea whipped at his knee-length coat. "I want you gentlemen to indulge yourselves in smaller crimes. Petty theft, harassing officers of the watch, that sort of thing. Integrate yourself into the society.  
  
"I myself will take care of the larger crimes. Ankh-Morpork is a dangerous dog to kick. You have to know just how to grab its ears," he said slyly as he looked over his shoulder at the glimmering lights on its horizon. "There is no one competent to watch over it now. Consider this a break." When he turned back to face his crew, the weak light of the quarter moon glinted off white teeth.  
  
*  
  
Sergeant Ping watched the black ship dock in the harbor. The pale light of the morning sun caught its sails as it pulled gracefully into the harbor. Whoever was at the helm certainly knew what they were doing, Ping realized.  
  
He carefully wrote down what time the ship had docked in his log and waited for the crew to disembark. He would speak to the captain about payment, but the crew was where he had been taught to look for hooligans.  
  
The crew had been at sea a long time, Ping could see. They looked tired and like they wanted nothing more than to keep their heads down and get a decent meal. He coughed when one of the female crew members passed by. "Miss?"  
  
She looked up and nodded, acknowledging his presence.  
  
"Is your captain still aboard, miss?" He watched her nod in response. "Thank you," he said. He watched her walk off. When he turned around, he almost laughed.  
  
The captain was walking down the gangplank. He had a sort of swagger about him; half drunken ridiculousness and half noble entitlement. His ill- fitting boots slapped the wood as he approached Ping.  
  
"I'm going to need the name of your ship, sir." The captain stopped and looked at his ship. His lips moved slightly as he repeated the request to himself. He fixed Ping with an inquisitive and slightly amused expression.  
  
"I can't say she really has a name. Bloody great boat, perhaps." His accent hinted at Morporkian, but also at Krullian. He had obviously spent time in both places. Lots of time.  
  
"Well, I need a name to write down here, and I'm going to need ten dollars a day." He paused to chew on his pencil. "I'm also going to need your name and your business here."  
  
"Well, Bloody Great Boat, then. And I'll give you twelve dollars a day if you forget my name." The captain dropped a bag onto the clipboard. "That's three days there." He began to swagger off.  
  
"Wait!" Ping had long since pocketed the money and turned quickly afterwards as the captain made toward the city. The other man spun slowly around and raised an eyebrow. "I still need your business here."  
  
The captain thought for a minute. "Piracy," he answered finally. Ping chuckled.  
  
"Good one sir, but I'm going to need your real business here if you're going to get into the city."  
  
"Sharp lad," the captain said, tapping the side of his nose. "We're here on business, Sergeant. Some negotiations with the Patrician."  
  
"Right," Ping said as he dutifully wrote it down. "Thank you sir." He looked up and the captain was gone. Must have been tired, Ping concluded.  
  
*  
  
Commander Vimes was attempting to defeat the Paperwork when Carrot knocked at the door to his office. The six-foot-six dwarf poked his head in the door. "There's someone here to see you, sir. Says he's sailed quite a ways to meet you."  
  
Vimes paused. He wasn't aware of anybody traveling overseas to meet him. He gave Carrot a puzzled look. Carrot shrugged.  
  
"I can't say he's familiar, sir. He looks quite disreputable though." Carrot looked uneasy. "I could have Dorfl escort him out, sir."  
  
"No, Carrot," Vimes sighed. "Send him in." He watched the dwarf nod slowly. Carrot turned and walked down the steps. The sound of uneasy footsteps approached shortly afterwards. 'They're drunk,' Vimes thought. 'Just what I need at the moment.'  
  
Vimes could not help but stare at the individual who entered the room. After proceeding through the door, the visitor flung himself into the chair in front of Vimes' desk and proceeded to prop his feet up amongst the paperwork. "Hello, Commander," he said with a lazy drawl. The accent sounded like it had its base in Ankh-Morpork but a lot of time had been spent in Genua, and definitely Krull. There was no mistaking that slur of words.  
  
Vimes's eyes narrowed. He didn't like the figure in front of him. He looked dishonest, scheming, too smart for his own good, and like he had been around the proverbial block more than a few times.  
  
"Who are you?" He growled. Ash fell from the lit cigar in his mouth. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"You don't recognize me?" the visitor said, feigning injury. "I may weep." The individual across the desk from Vimes raised an eyebrow and gave Vimes an amused but nonetheless hard stare.  
  
The eyes were very, very blue. And very, very intelligent. And no one knew quite what was behind them.  
  
Vimes almost inhaled his cigar. After a few minutes of coughing, he managed to speak. "What are you /doing/ here?"  
  
"Dropping by," Vetinari said with a crooked smile. "I've just come all the way from Re'Durat. My ship needs restocked."  
  
"You could be killed," Vimes hissed at him. "Showing up in a Watch House, of all places. Are you out of your mind?"  
  
"Most likely," the former Patrician drawled, still staring at Vimes. After watching Vimes's expression for a few moments, he snorted. "Honestly Vimes, do you think I'm going to be caught? Even /you/ didn't recognize me until I practically told you."  
  
Which was true, Vimes reflected. Vetinari was nearly the polar opposite of the Patrician of his past. His dark hair was about chin length and slightly scruffy. He a thin moustache with a short beard. But the clothes were really what made him different.  
  
Gone was the ankle-length green overcoat that Vimes had last seen him in. It had been replaced with brown trousers made of rough cloth, a knee-length green coat with gold buttons and trim, and a simple white shirt. Vimes also noticed the hard-wearing leather boots with the only-just-existent soles.  
  
And the hat. The three-pointed leather hat that threw Vetinari's entire face into shadow. There were black rings around his eyes, as well, Vimes noticed. He really, really hoped that Vetinari wasn't wearing make-up, but he rather suspected that he was. The Commander of the Watch sighed.  
  
"What ever, ever on the Disc inspired you to do this?"  
  
"Piracy seemed to be an attractive career," Vetinari answered simply. "And I had nothing else to do."  
  
"Piracy?" Vimes nearly roared before catching himself and lowering his voice to an enraged whisper. "Are you meaning to tell me that you have become a /pirate/?"  
  
"That was my intent, yes." Vetinari brushed some hair out of his eyes. Yes, he was definitely wearing make-up. Good /gods/. "Really Vimes, you ought to consider it should you ever hit a mid-life crisis."  
  
"So you," Vimes repeated, his hand over his eyes, "Havelock Vetinari -"  
  
"Captain Havelock Vetinari, actually." Vetinari corrected.  
  
"Good /gods/," Vimes nearly howled. "You truly are the most unpredictable human being I know." Vetinari shrugged and lit a cigarette. Black Scopani, Vimes noticed. The Commander briefly wondered where he'd stolen it from.  
  
"Why are you really here?" Vimes asked wearily, tapping the ash of his cigar off and into the mass of paperwork. "Offering me insurance again?"  
  
Vetinari looked surprised. "How did you know?" Vimes snorted. "Alright, I wasn't going to offer you insurance." He paused and took a long drag on the thin cigarette. "I had planned to offer Lord Rust insurance."  
  
Vimes went poker-faced. "You were going to offer the Patrician insurance? From piracy?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"/You/ were going to go to the /palace/ and offer the /patrician/ insurance?"  
  
"We had established that, I thought."  
  
"You can't do that!" Vimes shouted, slamming the desk. "You cannot do that!"  
  
"And why -" He froze. Vimes froze. Someone was coming up the stairs.  
  
"It's Carrot," Vimes whispered. "And - and Angua too." He put his head in his hands. "Can you hide?" When he looked up, his office was empty. But it wasn't, he knew. Vetinari was in here and Angua would smell him out. This was going to be interesting.  
  
"Alright, sir?" Carrot asked, poking his head in. He noticed the empty office and proceeded inwards. "Where did he go, sir?"  
  
"He's still here, Carrot," Angua said calmly. She was staring at an otherwise empty corner. "And he's good."  
  
"What do you mean?" Carrot asked. He and Vimes watched as she began to walk casually across the floor.  
  
"I know you're here," she said. "And I know who you are." She stood squarely in front of the corner. "Very clever - Oh, gods."  
  
"Hello love," Vetinari said lightly, exiting the corner. Angua couldn't stop staring.  
  
"What have you /done/ to yourself?" she sputtered. "What are you - What is -" Eventually she lapsed into silence. Vetinari gave her an amused grin.  
  
"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch your name, I suppose," Carrot said, slightly confused. "Who are you?"  
  
"Er, Carrot, you've already been introduced, though not for awhile. Erm," Vimes scratched his head. "Lord -"  
  
"It's Captain these days, actually," Vetinari jumped in.  
  
"- It's Vetinari, Carrot," Vimes said desperately.  
  
Carrot paused. "But I thought you were exiled," he said finally.  
  
"I was," Vetinari said simply. Then he grinned in a way Vimes did not like at all. "But I found a loophole in the official decree of exile." 


	4. Diplomatic Piracy, Part Two

There was the sound of a sword scraping out of its sheath. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to escort you to the Palace, sir," Carrot said solemnly. "According to Law 178, Year of the Infested Echidna, sub-clause eye-eye-eye any exiled persons have to take up loopholes in their personal decrees with the Patrician after being escorted to the Palace."  
  
Vetinari gave Carrot a blank stare. Then he turned to Vimes, a mild grin on his face. "Does drawing a sword on a civillian when a watchman's person is not threatened still count as Assault by an Officer of the Watch?"  
  
"Carrot, don't be an idiot," Angua snapped. "And put your sword back."  
  
"You are considered a dangerous criminal," Vimes said to Vetinari with a shrug. "And I really would recommend that you put your sword away," the Commander said to Carrot. "I'm sure he'll at least go without much commotion."  
  
"I'm sorry," Carrot said, shaking his head, "but the sword really is necessary." He pointed it at the politician-turned-pirate. "Move along, sir."  
  
Carrot only blinked in mild surprise when a silvery, curved blade appeared in Vetinari's hand and knocked Carrot's sword to the floor. "I really urge you not to pick that back up," Vetinari said casually, leaning lightly against a chair. He snorted when Carrot did, in fact, pick the sword up.  
  
"As an officer of the Watch, I am viewing that as a threat to my person," Carrot said stiffly. He pointed the sword once more at Vetinari. "I urge you not to move again."  
  
Vetinari raised an eyebrow. With a relaxed demeanor, he shook the dark hair out of his eyes and readjusted his hat. He swaggered across the room towards Carrot and - wearing a crooked and almost comical grin - crossed swords with him. "I've moved," he said.  
  
The two men watched each other for nearly a minute. Angua retreated behind the desk and knelt on the floor next to Vimes' chair. "Should be good," she muttered. The Commander and the Sergeant watched as the two Captains stared each other down.  
  
Carrot made the first move - a graceful downwards strike towards Vetinari's left foot. Vetinari's sword blocked the attempt. The pirate released his left hand from the sword and pushed Carrot backwards into the door. He made a move to knock to sword from Carrot's hands, but Carrot blocked. Vimes could see Vetinari sharpen up then.  
  
"He's paying attention now," Vimes whispered to Angua as Carrot and Vetinari's swords began to clash more frequently.  
  
"You mean he wasn't before?" Angua whispered back. Her eyes were fixed on Vetinari. He drunken and laughable façade did an excellent job of covering up an expert swordsman. He also, she noticed, knew his share of dirty street fighting. She found she couldn't watch anything but him - he was absolute grace.  
  
"You've gone all glazed over, Angua," Vimes whispered, a grin on his face. "Watch your boyfriend for a little while, eh? He's putting up a pretty good fight."  
  
Carrot was putting up a rather good fight, actually. He had Vetinari backed up against the bookshelf at this point and it almost looked like he could beat the pirate. That is, until you took a good look at them both. Carrot was obviously concentrating on the task at hand. Vetinari, however, looked like he was having a grand old time. He was calculating Carrot's every move, blocking every swipe, and thinking five steps ahead of the watchman.  
  
Carrot made what would have been, had he been fighting a less experienced swordsman, an ending blow. What he had intended to happen was Vetinari's sword would spin away and Carrot would have him trapped.  
  
What did, in fact, happen was Carrot's sword spun away and Vetinari spun on one heel. In a second, Vetinari had Carrot pinned against the bookshelf; the pirate's curved, silvery sword glinting in the dingy office light.  
  
"Thank you, Captain Carrot," Vetinari said gracefully, "for a most entertaining fight." He winked at the confused watchman and, sword still trained on Carrot's chest, turned to Vimes.  
  
"Well done," Vimes said approvingly. Vetinari nodded in return. Then he grinned lazily and sheathed his sword.  
  
"I think I'll show myself to the palace," he said nobly. He drew himself up crossed his arms, and looked over his shoulder at Carrot. His grin widened.  
  
Carrot had been edging across the floor, trying to reach his sword. When Vetinari's eyes fell on him he reached out and made a snatch for the weapon, but the battered brown pirate's boot had knocked it across the floor.  
  
"I want you to remember something for me, Captain," Vetinari said conversationally. "You will never, ever draw your sword in my presence without my saying so. Savvy?" Carrot nodded, finally realizing it was probably best to just let Vetinari go. "Good lad." The former Patrician re- adjusted his hat, nodded to all parties present, and swaggered out of the room.  
  
Vimes chuckled. "I'm almost glad he got exiled. Never would have seen this side of him otherwise. And you've gone all glazed over again, Angua."  
  
Angua snapped her gaze away and looked over at her fallen boyfriend. "That was bloody stupid of you," she said. Then she turned and looked at the door Vetinari had walked out of. A dreamy grin settled on her face and she left the room.  
  
"She's acting strangely," Carrot said. He picked his sword up and stood, brushing dust off his spotless breastplate. "Er, sir," he said nervously, glancing out the window and watching an ungainly shape stagger towards the Palace, "you don't think we'll loose our jobs, do you? I mean, we did just let him walk out."  
  
Vimes sighed. "I don't think it'll even cross the Patrician's mind, Captain," he said honestly. "I really don't."  
  
~  
  
Vetinari strolled along Lower Broadway, enjoying himself. The city had changed very little since he had left it, and he was if not overjoyed than at least intensely amused to see that Lower Broadway contained almost exactly the same stalls as it had when he'd been forced to walk down it five years ago. There was even a familiar person up ahead . . .  
  
"Sausage inna bun, sir?" One of Dibbler's odious sausages was shoved under his nose. The rat-like salesman grinned up at him.  
  
"Er, no," Vetinari said at length, eyeing the sausage warily. "I think I'll pass on that offer." He started to walk away when he heard Dibbler following behind him. "What," he asked impatiently, turning on a heel.  
  
Dibbler examined his face critically. "I've seen you before, my fine man. And I never, ever forget a face."  
  
Vetinari shrugged. "You have seen me before. But you'll do well to leave me alone, savvy?"  
  
"That's a Krullian term, that is, my man. Visiting from Krull, are you? Heading to tour the Palace, I'll be bound."  
  
Vetinari flashed the salesman a lightening smile. "I don't believe a tour will be necessary."  
  
Dibbler's face went from enterprising curiosity to recognition to wide-eyed terror. "Sorry to bother you, your Lordship."  
  
Vetinari shrugged. "It's Captain, these days. And this" - there was the sound of coins clicking onto the wood tray - "is for forgetting this meeting ever happened."  
  
Dibbler nodded. With another lightening-quick smile, Vetinari staggered off into the crowds. Shortly afterwards, Dibbler found himself chuckling at Vetinari's appearance. "Never knew he had it in him," he muttered.  
  
~  
  
Lord Rust was reading a report. Perhaps he was engrossed in the material* or perhaps he couldn't hear the soft click over his own voice softly reading aloud. Whatever the reason, he didn't notice the raggedly dressed figure in front of him until it cleared it's throat gently.  
  
Rust sputtered. "I didn't let you in!" he said indignantly. He was slightly put off when the figure merely gave him a happy smile and began rocking back and forth on its heels.  
  
"Lovely what you've done to the office," it said, looking around. Various glassy-eyed animals looked back at it.  
  
Rust used the quiet moment to absorb exactly what he was seeing. A dark- haired man, relatively tall and dressed in ridiculous clothing was standing in front of his desk. His jacket didn't fit. His boots were too large and the hat looked like it had been run over by a cart and set on fire. The man was also wearing eye shadow.  
  
"Rarely got to see the office from this perspective," the man continued, bemusedly. "Very interesting."  
  
"Who are you and what are you doing in my office?" Rust demanded. The man snapped back to reality and gave Rust a blank stare. Rust shifted uncomfortably; he couldn't quite place when he'd come under that stare before. "Well?" he asked pompously, attempting to hide his discomfort.  
  
An ironic smile settled on the man's face and he bowed, making a mockery of the whole sweeping-off-of-the-hat and bending-at-the-waist. "I am the captain of a ship in your harbor and I'm here to negotiate and official document." He straightened and settled the hat back on his head. "I believe my corrections could make the terms of this document beneficial to us both."  
  
"What's your ship's business here?" Rust asked suspiciously. It would be both stupid and bold of a pirate to sneak into his office, but stranger things had happened.  
  
"Restocking," the man said shortly. Rust nodded.  
  
"Have a seat, captain," he said cautiously. "What document are you talking about?"  
  
"I'd rather stand, thanks," the captain said cheerfully. Rust watched as he reached into a pocket in his coat and pulled out a battered document. It was almost as interesting as the man; some sort of liquid had crinkled and aged it drastically and one corner was singed, as if the owner had tried to burn it and decided not to at the last minute.  
  
"Been well-used, has it?" Rust asked, trying to be cheerful. The man across from him was comical, yes, but as time wore on he had taken on a clever sharpness that was making the patrician uncomfortable.  
  
"You couldn't even imagine," the figure drawled. He placed the document on the desk and one be-ringed hand pushed it across the desk towards the patrician. A paler, fatter hand picked it up and pale blue eyes darted across the text. Wide lips moved slowly as the text was read softly aloud. The document was placed down and pale blue eyes met azure orbs of infinite depth.  
  
"Havelock," Rust said softly, staring at the figure across from him. Vetinari nodded slowly. "What have you been . . .?" He snapped out of it and set his face in an angry crinkle of skin and chins.  
  
"You are violating almost every point on this Decree by coming here, Vetinari," Rust growled. "I could have you shot. I could call the guards right now."  
  
"You'll find them quite incapacitated," Vetinari said softly. The slur was gone from his words and despite his ridiculous appearance Rust found himself more frightened of the man than he had ever been.  
  
"I could shoot you right now," Rust said nervously, swallowing. There was a silken sound.  
  
"I don't think you'd do that, Ronnie," Vetinari said, just as softly as he had before. He rested his knuckles on the desk. In his right hand he was holding a spotless, silvery sword. "Now let's talk about that document." He flashed Rust a humorless grin.  
  
~  
  
*It was a report about foreign trade 


	5. The Final Decree

Vimes was slightly surprised when Lord Rust stormed angrily into his office forty-five minutes after Vetinari had departed. He had been expecting something like it, but not exactly what he had seen. In fact, he'd never expected to see Rust in a captain's uniform in his life.  
  
"Get to the harbor with some watchmen now, Vimes," he'd huffed. Then he'd turned on his heel and stormed out.  
  
Vimes had pondered the situation for a minute or so and then had called Carrot and Angua to his office. On an afterthought he also called Nobby and Colon. Then he told them slowly and with a neutral expression what was going on. Angua had shaken her head.  
  
"I just hope he's expecting it."  
  
Vimes had chuckled. "I'd be damned if he isn't."  
  
*  
  
Havelock Vetinari was leaning against the railing of his ship, having a quiet smoke. The crew was ready to run if necessary, but Vetinari was taking his time. He knew Rust and he knew that there would be a least a half-an-hour lapse between when Rust declared war against a criminal and when he actually put things into motion.  
  
The meeting had gone smoothly enough, Vetinari reflected, watching a government ship begin to load up with confused-looking sailors. Rust had agreed to the new terms of exile and had signed the official-looking document. He hadn't even spotted that the document was nowhere even close to being official.  
  
Vetinari's real plan went something like this: Get Vimes involved, trick Rust into declaring war against me, blow some holes in his ship, and trick him into signing the real deal. It would work, he knew. The simplest plans always did.  
  
There were other reasons to his certainty. He'd not let the old Vetinari have a romp for quite some time. He'd created a new personality for himself, new mannerisms, new everything. Havelock Vetinari, Patrician, had been boxed away in some forgotten corner of his brain and left to contribute occasional plans or bits of knowledge. But that side could be useful, one had to admit.  
  
It was never, ever wrong. And so he'd used it to get what he wanted.  
  
"Captain?" Vetinari turned away from the government ship and faced his first mate. She coughed nervously. "Don't you think we ought to get going?"  
  
Vetinari looked over his shoulder at the ship. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of brass. Upon closer inspection, he realized it was Vimes and a few Watchmen.  
  
"Interesting . . ." he muttered. He observed the state of the official ship and turned back to the nervous young woman before him. "I suppose we ought to get this show on the road. Figuratively speaking."  
  
She nodded and scurried off to do whatever it was she was supposed to be doing. Vetinari grinned quietly and proceeded to ease the ship out of the slip.  
  
*  
  
Rust caught sight of the ship just as the final crew members were boarding. Sleek, elegant and black it was gliding off into the circle sea. He turned to Vimes.  
  
"Did you know he was still in the harbor?!" Rust roared, gesturing wildly to the ship that was gradually becoming a smaller dot on the horizon.  
  
"No," Vimes answered honestly.  
  
"We could have had him right there! Don't your men keep record of this sort of thing?!"  
  
"Only ships that have docked, sir. We figure that once they leave, they are no longer out problem."  
  
Rust heaved angrily and whirled to watch the ship as it disappeared. He then slowly turned to the captain and said as calmly as he could "I want that ship followed now, and as fast as possible."  
  
"Yes, sir," the captain said. Vimes turned away from Rust and the rest of his crew and faced what members of the watch he'd brought with him.  
  
"We don't stand a chance," he said definitively. Angua and Carrot nodded, Colon and Nobby looked nervous. "If I know Vetinari, he won't let this ship go down. This is all a move in some great game he's playing at the moment and it spoils the game if you crush bits of it to tiny pieces." He paused. "But I will warn you, never in his past has he hesitated at taking little chips out of them. Be prepared for something approaching a naval battle."  
  
"Should we slay the enemy?" Carrot asked, face radiating honesty. Vimes sighed.  
  
"No, Carrot. Just find a quiet place to hide where you can see what's happening but won't get stabbed."  
  
*  
  
"Drop the sails," Vetinari said lazily, leaning against the helm. "They ought to catch up with us eventually. As he watched the horizon in the direction from which they'd come, he was aware of a whispered conversation amongst the crew.  
  
"Captain," he heard the first mate say. He turned to face her slowly, and saw that she did not look nervous this time. The rest of the crew was standing behind her and none of them looked happy.  
  
"You have a point to make?" he asked cautiously.  
  
"We don't agree with what you're doing," she said. There were nods from the crew.  
  
"No?" he asked.  
  
"We saw the ship they're coming after us with. This ship's good, yes, but it's no match for that. That's a battleship, sir." She paused and looked around. There were nods of encouragement from the rest of the crew. "It seems that you're leading us into our own death trap."  
  
Vetinari chuckled. "Is that the problem?"  
  
She looked slightly put-off. "Yes . . ."  
  
"Let me tell you all something," Vetinari said easily. "I lived in Ankh- Morpork for some forty-five years. During that time I got to know every single one of the men on that ship. And I can tell you one thing; they're not really interested in any skin but their own."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"They're hoping it'll be clean - they shoot the cannons a couple of times and we run off." He paused and thought about it for a moment. "Or that I'll die, in which case you'll be safe. If we blow more holes in their ship than they do in ours, they'll surrender."  
  
"Or their ship'll sink," said a hulk of a man near the back.  
  
"Doesn't sound very reliable to me," the first mate snapped.  
  
"I suppose one of us could board the ship and threaten to kill the Patrician if they don't leave us alone," Vetinari conceded. "Actually, that might be easier."  
  
"I think you should do that," the man at the back said. "Bein' the captain and all."  
  
Vetinari shrugged. "Fine by me." He turned and watched the horizon behind him and heard the crew disperse. Then he heard the footsteps approaching.  
  
"If this doesn't work and you're not dead, so help me I'll make sure you'll wish you were," the first mate whispered in his ear. He turned to her and gave her an icy grin.  
  
"Pity then that I've been wishing that for the past six years."  
  
She watched him warily for a moment and stalked off. He turned back to the horizon and smirked. There was a steadily growing black dot in the distance.  
  
*  
  
Shouldn't be much longer, sir," the captain reported to Rust. "It looks like they've dropped sail. We'll be upon them in the hour."  
  
"Good," Rust said stiffly. "You can always count on Havelock to be a damn fool when it comes to his own hide. Thinks he's invincible."  
  
"No one's proved him wrong yet," Vimes pointed out.  
  
Rust gave him an icy glare. "Well, I'll just have to do that then, won't I?"  
  
"Good luck sir," Vimes said. Then he fled.  
  
The watchmen had congregated at the front of the ship, watching the black ship on the horizon grow bigger. Vimes joined them.  
  
"Why do you suppose he's dropped sail?" Carrot asked.  
  
"He's got some silly plan, I suppose," Angua responded. Vimes nodded in agreement.  
  
"Why are we here," Nobby asked. "I mean, here on this ship, not 'here' in general."  
  
"Rust wanted us here. Extra manpower, I suppose," Vimes responded with a shrug. "Not that it's going to do him any good."  
  
"Havelock'll be on him within the first five minutes. It'll be a ten-minute battle," Angua said. They could see little people on the ship now.  
  
"Maybe seven," Vimes chuckled. "I wouldn't push it to ten."  
  
Time passed and the watchmen watched impassively as the Morporkian battleship pulled up beside the pirate vessel. Vimes scanned the faces of those on the opposing ship, but couldn't see Vetinari anywhere.  
  
"Do any of you see Vetinari," he asked the rest of the watch. "He's not hard to miss."  
  
"He's right there," Nobby said nonchalantly. He pointed at where Lord Rust was standing.  
  
Vimes did a double-take. Lord Rust was indeed still standing there, but there was a dark green, sopping wet figure holding an ancient sword to the patrician's throat. Upon closer inspection Vimes recognized it as Vetinari.  
  
"I'll be damned," Vimes chuckled. "That wasn't even a two-minute battle."  
  
"Anyone shoots, stabs and/or fires anything will be responsible for the patrician's death," Vetinari said nonchalantly. "While this may be preferable for some of you, what will not be preferable is the fact that you will then be disposed of. Are we clear?"  
  
No one moved a muscle.  
  
"Excellent!" Vetinari beamed around at the crew of the Morporkian ship. "Now, any of you can shoot me because frankly I don't give a damn, but allow me to introduce myself first." He paused, not for dramatic affect, but to organize his thoughts. "I am Havelock Vetinari."  
  
He'd said it simply and with a shrug, not expecting any sort of recognition or loyalty. Vimes watched in amusement as recognition spread across the crew of the Morporkian ship.  
  
"If I shoot your boat will you kill him and come back?" someone at the back of the crowd said. Vetinari raised an eyebrow. Then he gave Rust a puzzled glance.  
  
"Surely you aren't that bad."  
  
"Damn you," Rust said. "You had this planned the whole time, didn't you?"  
  
Vetinari chuckled. "No, actually this bit wasn't my idea. But it is working really well, isn't it?" He grinned at the first mate, who blushed.  
  
"What do you want?"  
  
"I want you to sign the official revision of the decree of exile." Vetinari said simply.  
  
"What?! I thought I already did that!"  
  
"No, that was a dummy," Vetinari said patiently. He reached into his sopping coat pocket, keeping the sword at Rust's neck. He pulled out a crisp piece of paper and held it out. "This is the real one."  
  
Rust's eyes flicked down the paper. "It's awfully short," he said finally. "And shouldn't there be more tiny print?"  
  
"Why?" Vetinari asked. "It's all right there, big and friendly."  
  
"All it says is that you can't hold an office." Rust glanced up curiously. "What are you up to?"  
  
"We both win," Vetinari said simply. "You're still restricting me from something and I can go in and out of the city."  
  
Rust glared at the paper for a minute or so. Then he sighed. "Fine, you win, you bastard. I'll sign it."  
  
"Nifty," Vetinari said simply. Out of the same wet pocket from which he had produced a perfectly dry piece of paper, he brought forth a pen.  
  
Rust took it, somewhat reluctantly, and signed at the bottom of the paper. The ink was red and appeared to burn on the paper for a moment. Vetinari grinned and folded the paper up. He pushed it back into the same pocket and turned to his crew.  
  
He regarded them curiously for a moment. Then he walked over to the side and exchanged some words with them. As a whole, all of the pirates spared the Morporkian ship a glance and again huddled in conversation. Then Vetinari turned around. He scanned the deck and found Vimes. The rest of the Morporkian crew was still watching as he grabbed the commander by the arm and pulled him aside.  
  
"I'll be back in two months," he said quietly. "Let Rust stew for a little. Give Sybil my regards."  
  
He turned to leave, but Vimes grabbed his coat. "Where are you going?" the Commander demanded.  
  
"Fourecks, I think we agreed on." He shrugged. "It'll be a nice break." He grinned. "All I wanted was to be able to go to Ankh-Morpork. It doesn't mean I'm going to live there. It's the principle of the thing."  
  
Vimes nodded. "What about the government?"  
  
Vetinari glanced back at Rust, who was watching them suspiciously. "I still have more control than he knows."  
  
"What'll you do when you come back?"  
  
Vetinari didn't miss a beat. He grinned slightly mischievously. "I'm going to sell watches." 


End file.
